


“Believing In Lies”, by Fire's Ashes

by Fallout4Reactions



Category: Avatar: The Last Airbender
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M, Zutara
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-02-01
Updated: 2018-11-08
Packaged: 2019-03-12 06:41:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 17,448
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13541850
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fallout4Reactions/pseuds/Fallout4Reactions
Summary: Having lost his memories, Zuko wakes up to find himself surrounded by little more than vaguely familiar faces. Lies begin to spiral out of control; until they finally become too much for even the GAang to believe. Rated T. Zutara! Slight AU. Rewrite of the 2013 original.Disclaimer: I do NOT own A:tLA, and claim no payment from writing this story.





	1. Prologue: “To Heal The Heart Of An Enemy”

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: Good morning/evening…. Afternoon? Either way, no matter where you are in the world, I hope you’re well!
> 
> Welcome to the final rewrite of Believing In Lies. The original was written over five years ago--by a less experienced me. I loved the story idea, and it had stuck with me ever since. And so I have decided to give it--and myself--another chance.
> 
> And while I’ve got your attention the on the A/N(s), I would just like to introduce my fantastic beta reader, Ana-DaughterofHades. An incredible writer, and a truly inspirational beta reader. I would recommend her to anyone! If you enjoy what you read--remember that she had a lot to do with it.
> 
> Thank you, my friend. I owe you greatly! ^^
> 
> (Please refer to FF.net for more)
> 
> Profile: https://www.fanfiction.net/u/4988005/  
> Story: https://www.fanfiction.net/s/12814444/1/Believing-In-Lies

“Am I really the only one here who thinks that I’m not being completely unreasonable--or am I just talking to myself? Could someone please enlighten me!” Sokka simply couldn’t believe it. He was dumbfounded and clearly unaware of his arms waving about as he said his piece. Someone must have realized by now that this was only going to get a lot worse, if experiences were anything to go by, but even with that over-looming complexity hanging in the air… neither of them, it would seem, had learned.

He was past caring about the whys and the what ifs. Though Sokka had properly forgotten about the last disagreement they’d had on a similar subject. Nevertheless, it was still fresh in Katara’s mind, and all she could do was roll her eyes at Sokka’s defiance. To her, this was just a repeat performance of the last time. Though she was trying her best to ignore this particular outburst. Not wanting to shout. She simply wasn’t in the mood for one of her brother’s famous tantrums. Obviously, the message wasn’t getting through his thick skull. 

Aang, on the other hand, didn’t say a word, facing away from his friend, transfixed and completely oblivious to what Sokka was saying. Despite this, Sokka continued. Blatantly annoyed, he made sure that that was very clear to both his sister and his friend, who--in his mind--continued to purposely dismiss him. 

Sokka’s verbal outcries were not uncommon, nor were they called for. But he had an opinion, and by the Spirits above, he was going to voice them, which was no surprise to those on the receiving end either.

“Let me remind you both that this thing here is our enemy! Which is obvious to anyone with a brain cell, I’m sure.” Sokka’s voice would periodically crack as he ranted, causing him to stall every so often. His tanned cheeks turned a crimson red, shining perfectly in the sunlight as he quickly tried to turn away. And for a few moments, he felt some relief in their dismissal. He was going to take something for himself that day, even if it was simply keeping his pride intact. 

Of course, he was still embarrassed that he could not control his voice yet. He was a man, and his maturity should indeed reflect that very fact. No matter how important that seemed, it paled in comparison to the anger and disbelief he felt now, however. He looked back, trying to act surprised that the two of them were still playing mother hen to that monster. He groaned. Why was he still trying to make his presence known? Surely they understood where he was coming from. He needed to up his game. He needed to be more obvious.

And so he pointed, rather overdramatically, at the unconscious body of the Prince of the Fire Nation. “This is Zuko,” he whispered slowly, now closer. His sister sighed, turning her head away. Her expression was clearly giving her brother the hint to shut up. Despite this, there was no end in sight. “A man who has been on our asses since day one! A man who kidnapped you, Katara. A man who has repeatedly tried to capture you, Aang.” He looked at each of them as he mentioned the raw facts. Aang must have had his reasons, sure, but Katara was simply fed up with hearing his voice, right or not. “He is a Firebender, and guess what? We don’t help injured Firebenders!” Sokka now stood, walking backward, his hands on his head, breathing in and out slowly--trying to calm himself.

But by now it was obvious that he wasn’t going to stop with just that, and Katara knew that she would have to be the one to tell him. Aang still wasn’t talking and she couldn’t take it any longer.

“Sokka!” He now looked at her, more shocked that she had finally acknowledged him in all truth. “You’ve made your point, now stop!” Katara’s voice snapped harshly. 

By her reaction alone he knew not to say another word. He just needed to shut his mouth and open his ears. She had that look in her eyes, a look he had grown accustomed to over the years. Her deep blue eyes were glued to his. Without saying another word, she was able to get across to him that she had had enough of him continuously going on. Getting the message rather quickly, Sokka sighed somewhat heavily in defeat, but he wouldn’t give in. 

Even then, Katara thought he couldn’t possibly have been stupid enough to push further, but she knew her brother and she knew he would disagree with the “stupid” part entirely. He would try until the bitter end. For his own reasons.

“You know--!” He was ready to defend his argument, but Katara was faster and held her hand up to stop her brother mid-sentence, which annoyed him to no end. “But...” His second attempt didn’t seem to reflect the enthusiasm he had shown only moments earlier, and it showed in his stature. Shaking her head, Katara also showed regret for her outburst but held firm, to show her brother that there was no need for his own reaction.

“We are just seeing if he is still alive, nothing more. Personally, I agree with you. He is our enemy, and yes, of all people, this is Zuko. But if he was anyone else, we wouldn’t let them suffer. We’re not like them, Sokka, and we need to prove that.” Taking a deep breath to calm her own nerves, she paused, also allowing her brother to take in what she was saying. 

He was shaking his head; anger was present in his features, understandably so, and she understood that more than anybody else could. “By the looks of it, Sokka, he’s dying. You wouldn’t want to die alone and neither would I. No matter how strong we sometimes pretend to be.” Her voice suddenly came off as sweet, almost caring, and it reminded Sokka of their mother.

A bittersweet silence soon followed. 

Once she was sure Sokka was quite, she gave him a look that only a sister could, telling him that she truly did understand what he was saying. But he now took his turn to ignore her, turning away to watch the sea. Even with his back to her, Katara could tell his anger was born from tragedy--a tale she too had experienced--and the regret manifested so clearly in his body language. This alone was what made Sokka so stubborn. But on the other hand, it had also made him fearless. There was no doubt in her mind: her brother was brave... and he tried so hard to show it. She was so proud of him, and she hoped he knew that, no matter their arguments. 

She honestly believed he deserved to know. To be told he was being the hero he had always told their dad he would be one day. But she knew he was too hurt to listen, and unfortunately there was no time to convince him of such a thing now, so she took the few precious moments she had to turn her attention to Aang, who was now looking directly at her. Visibly, his smile showed her that he agreed with her words. His eyes, however, showed sympathy for Sokka, who, no matter how much he shouted, was, in some respect, right in what he had said.

If she too was truthful, she would have admitted there were plenty more things she would rather be doing at this moment in time. But Aang had insisted, and yet, despite her annoyance with her brother, she would confess that she did agree with him. Though, deep down, her morals didn’t, and she would never be able to live with herself if she let someone suffer for the sake of her own hatred. No matter who they were or what Nation they hailed from. She didn’t quite understand Aang’s persistence but she had given into him regardless.

Zuko, being a prince, was capable of anything. Regardless, she wanted to see where Aang was going with all this. She knew it was in his nature. She had never seen him cause anyone any harm for his own gain. Aang wasn’t like that. There was just so much pressure on him… on all of them, in fact, and she knew it took its toll. Though she knew his heart was in the right place, and Katara tried her best to remember that. 

“Katara?” Aang’s voice pulled her attention to him once again. He was kneeling over Zuko, simply watching his chest rise and fall. It was out of rhythm, tainted with pain, out of sync due to the burden it held.

Aang didn’t lift his head this time, however, and Katara could literally feel her chest becoming bloated from worry.

“You ok, Aang?” she asked. He responded with a noticeable silence, like he hadn’t heard her speak. Katara gave her brother a worried glance, for Aang’s unresponsive nature had caused even him to turn and look, but all Sokka could offer was a shrug in return. Then he returned his glance to the sea.

Once again, the silence resumed. This didn’t mean the world stopped; waves still rushed to the shore and birds still flew high above, occasionally blocking the sun’s blistering heat. Their silence, their confusion… this world didn’t have a care for those things, nor for them. Though, the Spirits still watched. They whispered to Aang as they danced to the wind’s tune. Then there was nothing, a cruel reminder of the situation at hand, and that they truly were alone in their decision.

After a considerable amount time of getting nowhere, a great howl of wind rushed passed, lifting as much sand across the far-flung beach as it could possibly muster. Small rocks turned, and some even crashed into each other. Aang took notice of this. A reaction to their silence? To their incompetence? Aang didn’t move. Finally taking his eyes away from the prince, he listened for any signs of hidden answers upon the unnaturally cold wind.

Or maybe it was just a coincidence? He couldn't tell and he didn't dare try to guess. It was not his place.

"His injuries, they're grave,” Katara spoke tenderly, breaking the silence once again. However, she might as well have been talking to herself, for neither her brother nor Aang reacted to her sudden observation. 

Sokka sighed, though more out of a tiredness--he was done fighting his losing battle, and with it, he found himself wondering if the world knew of its losing battle, too, and whether it was at the same point that he was. Did the other Nations not see the horizon? The thick tension in the air could choke even the most resilient of people to the point of desperation. Normally he would have wanted nothing more than to agree with himself, but uncharacteristically, he hoped he was wrong. This was a battle that no one could afford to lose. Not for anything. Not even for his ego. 

From there Sokka side glanced the pair; understanding where his younger sister was coming from was key to his acceptance of this. It was hard. So damn hard. But he returned to his previous thoughts, remembering how he had called himself “a man” before, and realising only then that he wasn’t being what he so often praised himself to be. He, in all truth, was a teenager. Nothing more, and he still had so much to learn. Maturity? That was the definition of his sister. Even Aang at the best of times didn’t act his age... and he was a kid! Who was he compared to those two?

He glanced at the ground, his cheeks flushing with more embarrassment. He felt nothing but anger in those few moments. He came to realise then that he was no one special. Even Zuko, for all his bravado, was more impressive than him. That caused his gut to turn. Somehow that hurt more than anything else. 

“Sokka?” He looked up to see Katara standing next to him. She looked worried. That was when he put up his front, but he knew she could see right through it. Yeah, he was annoyed, and maybe his anger wasn’t justified right now--he could admit that--but he couldn’t be mad at them for trying to be good people. 

Maybe he was more annoyed at himself for not being the better person. Then, without warning, his sister hugged him. He relaxed a little, returning the jester. Aang now stood, smiling properly for the first time that day. 

As Katara let her brother go, Aang felt that he should at least say something, knowing this was hard on the siblings.“We’re not gonna act without you, Sokka. We trust your instincts, after all.” 

Sokka couldn’t help but smile at that comment, remembering the whole situation with Jet. Katara also let out a small giggle. Sokka had been right that day, and they both trusted him with their lives ever since. 

“You may question your value, but to us, you’re pretty awesome, Sokka.”

It was like Sokka had forgotten his problems. He appreciated what the kid was trying to do. “Thanks, Aang.”

“No problem,” he chirped happily. 

A slight pause ensued, as if they didn’t want to leave the happy moment behind. But Aang knew the question had to be asked. Zuko, if they were to help him, didn’t have much time left. “So, what were you thinking?” Aang became serious. Sokka sighed and looked to his sister, who nodded. The moment of happiness was gone.

“My instincts tell me that you guys think helping him is the right thing to do, and as much as I disagree with that, there’s enough death and hatred in this world right now. I shouldn’t add more, especially if both can be avoided.”

“That’s very grown up of you, Sokka,” Katara admitted, sending him a smile. 

“Well…” The word came off as another sigh. “It’s probably time to grow up.”

“Don’t be so hard on yourself. It’s good to act your age sometimes. It’s how we learn,” Aang added.

“Would you stop with all the old-aged wisdom, and start following your own advice, huh?” Aang laughed, promising to do just that as long as Sokka stopped pouting. He walked slowly back towards Aang, sending him a nod of acknowledgement. “Let's get this over with…”

火-水-土-空-闪

The boiling hot sun beat down upon their exhausted bodies, making sure they never forgot about its damning presence on the land. Even under the fabric of their clothing, the sand felt uncomfortably hot on their knees, causing some frustration with having to move every ten minutes or so. Sokka was the one who was most vocal about this. The occasional breeze would greet them however, reminding them that not all things had to be a painful battle, that not everything was against them. 

Katara checked the prince's pulse for the third time in under an hour, just to make sure that her healing wasn’t doing more damage than good. In some rare cases, things weren’t meant to be healed so quickly. This--when it happened-- caused a nasty shock that most never recovered from. The body would heal in its own time; she was just here to get him out of the worst of it, so he could survive long enough to actually heal on his own. In all honesty, she was more surprised that they’d even found him alive. At first glance, the only thing that indicated his survival was his chest, which occasionally rose and fell.

Katara would give Zuko credit where it was due; he was a fighter. 

The boys had already removed most of the prince’s armor. This was vital in helping Katara see how bad things truly were. However, most of the armor was beyond repair, damaged with what could have only been described as blunt force. It was severely cracked and parts hung open, making its use void. Its steel frame was bent and its edges gripped tightly against his underclothes, making removing it extremely difficult. Katara removed the last of the ripped fabric from his chest, revealing what she had feared most. She reacted quickly and lifted some clean water out of her pouch and pressed it against one of the wounds. She had to stop the bleeding. 

He’s been bleeding out this whole time!? Her mind went into overdrive, questioning how she’d never noticed this before.

A sudden force of guilt pressed hard against her chest; it was like she had forgotten how to breathe. The sudden realisation that Zuko was so close to dying somewhat startled her. Once the water had stopped glowing under her palms, she removed them slowly to check her handy work; he was no better off, but at least the bleeding had been stopped. Why did she panic? It wasn’t as if his death would affect her in a negative way. She would gladly be rid of him, even! 

Then why am I helping him?

The question echoed in her mind. It wasn’t an unfair point. Here she was healing her enemy. But there had to be a reason beyond Aang’s insistence to help, surely. Afterall, she had been given a choice. What was she thinking? Did she simply feel sorry for a dying man or was it because she knew she would miss his constant presence? She couldn’t give an answer, for she was too frightened to accept that it could be the second of the two. Katara pushed it to the back of her mind. As of yet, she didn’t even know if she was a skilled enough healer to help, let alone save him.

Zuko’s chest still rose and fell in its unpleasant way, and his skin was somewhat wet to the touch. The sun would have dried off any seawater by now. Though, it wasn’t hot enough to cause such a sweat, and so naturally she went and touched his forehead. A hot muggy feeling could be felt under her hand; it was as she suspected. He had a fever. Whether it was life-threatening or not was yet to be seen, but she asked Aang to get some cloth out of Sokka’s pack nevertheless. It was never wise to leave a fever untreated, no matter how insignificant it may seem to be. She moved back to inspecting his chest as she waited. 

Three stab wounds lay within the region of his abdomen, and with them bore three deep gashes that lay across the left side of his chest, cutting deep into the pure muscle. Two were dry, placed upon bruising, the third recently healed by her. The bruising on his chest itself was bad enough, but was also clear on his collarbone, right shoulder, and under his ribs. 

And then there were the burns. His neck was the worst off; it spread up right under his chin. A single cut brandished his lip, and dried blood lay just over his right eyebrow. She found more bruising around his eyes. Following the burns back down, they travelled to the right. The blood that rested upon them was turing dark and Katara suspected internal injuries. She would have to begin healing now if that was the case. It was hard to see with all the blood and the burns, but she would get him cleaned up and then assess the extent of what was hiding afterwards. Most people died due to injuries that healers could not see with the naked eye. Katara would be fool to just assume that his injuries didn’t extend further just because she couldn’t see them. She wouldn't get anywhere working in the dark, however. “Sokka. In your pack that Aang’s near, there should be a bowl. It had your fish sticks in from the market. Could you please get it and fill it with sea water?”

“On it.” He didn’t look happy that he’d been asked to move from his rock; it had taken him so damn long to get comfortable. But he did what was asked of him regredaless. Sokka understood that his sister was under some considerable stress.

“How are you doing?” Aang asked as he returned with the requested cloth. He handed it to her. It was already damp and Katara was grateful for her friend’s forward thinking. Between Zuko’s injuries and her over-thinking, she was just glad someone was willing to go the extra mile.

“Thank you, Aang. This should help a lot!” Her response was heavy but not ungrateful. She placed the cloth on the prince’s forehead and then politely told Aang she needed space to do her work. He left without another word, but Katara noticed that he had left with a smile, so she knew she hadn’t snapped at him. 

Sokka returned moments later with the bowl, wishing that there was more than just sea water in it. Naturally, due to his appetite, he had eaten all the food from within a day of getting it, which he had only come to regret now.

“Here. For his royal assness,” Sokka sarcastically spoke, trying to add a sort of regal tone to the edge of his words and performing a courtesy as he slowly walked away. 

It didn’t make any sense and Katara tried to act serious; she really did! Though it may have been a little funny... and she couldn’t help that the corner of her lip twitched into a faint smile. Katara naturally shook her head, trying to remember how inappropriate her brother was being. 

As much of a pain Zuko was, it was hard to imagine making this journey without him. As stupid as it sounded, it was as if he had become apart of it. And she had to remember that he could still die at any moment. Her expression suddenly tightened into a frown, a lump forming in her dry throat. She cleared it quickly and tired to forget how she was acting, reminding herself that she was being absolutely ridiculous. She extracted the salt from the water--salt, in large amounts, could cause a moisture build up around the wound.

The day wore on cosidably quickly; the sun no longer had a foothold in the mists of the sky. A cooling air had replaced the once arid heat and the sand had to begun to cool. Katara wiped her brow. She was exhausted. It had taken hours to get Zuko stable, but she was nevertheless proud of herself. His wounds were clean, bandged, and… he was still alive! 

In the meantime, Aang had gone to get Appa, leaving Sokka to care for his sister. 

“You done, sis?” he gave her a half shout from his rock. When he got no answer and his sister didn’t acknowledge him, he only then decided to walk over. When he got there, he could see how tense she truly was. Sokka knelt down beside her, looking at her with a bemused look. She was still hard at work, despite her obvious exhaustion. He placed a hand on her shoulder, letting her know he was here for her. She needed rest. “I’ll get you some water. Aang will be back soon. Then you can sleep.” He left, but soon found himself glancing back, a little worried for his sister’s wellbeing.

“Stupid Firebender…” He knelt down by his bag, growling as he searched within it. A sudden surge of anger threatened to expose itself. The person healing that bastard wasn’t some random healer, she was his sister! “This is all your fault!” The hate didn't leave as he continued to mutter to himself, rummaging around. As he reached for his personal water pouch, he sighed angrily; looking away, he closed his eyes tight. 

He abandoned his quest for a moment, throwing the item down in a huff and exhaled heavily. What was wrong with him? He felt like he was constantly going backwards and forwards. He found himself glaring at the pouch only moments later as if it would make any difference to his situation whatsoever. Where was this self-doubt and anger coming from? His sister needed him, but here he was feeling sorry for himself! He was delaying the inevitable. 

Without another thought about himself, he snatched up his pouch and turned hot on his heels, walking back towards her. He had more important things to think about.

As Sokka was about to reach his sister, a sudden gust of wind surprisingly threw him off course. The shock on his face resembled that of an old man losing his balance on a cliff. He didn’t need to turn to find out who had just returned. He was accustomed to Appa’s antics. But by the Spirits, he wasn’t ready for them.

“Aang!” Sokka turned, trying to gain some of his dignity back and his balance. He began wiping the sand off of himself. He wasn’t at all assumed.

“Sorry, Sokka! Didn’t see you, there,” Aang shouted back from a top of Appa.

“You lair! That Bison knows exactly what he’s doing and so do you!” Sokka turned back to sister, who was now looking at him. A small smile had formed upon her lips. That was the Katara he liked to see, even if it was at his expense, though her tired eyes told a different story altogether. He nodded, becoming somewhat serious. “You, ok?”

“I think so,” she admitted softly. “Just a little tired.”

Sokka raised an eyebrow. “A little tired?” he repeated. “We’ve been here for hours, and you’ve been working on this asshole this whole time, and you say, you’re ‘a little’ tired? Come on, Katara, I know my sister better than that.” He balanced himself next to her. She just nodded slowly, knowing her brother was right. A sudden wave of tiredness enraped her, confirming what Sokka had believed. 

Aang now joined them, and Momo was perched on his shoulder. He screeched a sort of ‘hello’ at them before returning to his nuts; Appa, on the other hand, was resting his eyes, simply enjoying the coolness of the evening. He knew he would be flying again soon. 

“Katara…” Aang begun; his voice told her what he was about to inquire about. She couldn’t help but stop him in his tracks.

“I’m fine, guys, really. I just need some sleep.” Aang accepted this, but yet still looked concerned.

“Well, that's why I got Appa, so we didn’t have to walk back.” The Airbender made sure that his bison got the credit he deserved. Sokka though didn’t look convinced.

“Riiight. And what’s our heroic Appa getting out of this, huh?” Sokka now stood, arms crossed, waiting for an answer.

“Uhh, what do you think, Sokka? Food.” Aang was somehow bemused by the question, his right eyebrow arching up, showing Sokka that very confusion. The oldest of the siblings remained serious for a few moments longer.

“I appreciate your honesty,” Sokka finally admitted, unfolding his arms.

Aang, however, was still confused and questioned Sokka’s motives against Appa. “What’s with all the questions? Appa flies you everywhere!” Sokka, now busy helping his sister up, didn’t answer instantly.

“He’s also tries to knock me over every time he lands!” Sokka protested. “But that’s fine. I’m sure I want a mouth full of sand, a souvenir from my time at the beach, maybe!”

“That’s not his fault--” Aang started.

“So it’s yours?” Sokka cut in. 

“No--”

“Who’s then?!” Both of Sokka’s arms launched themselves in the air, either to fuel his stance--increasing his chances of winning the argument--or, most likely, he was out of his mind.

“Why are you you two fighting about this?!” Katara finally interrupted. Her snapping voice effectively grabbed both of their attentions, like flies trapped in a spider’s web. She was certainly not in the mood, and she certainly didn’t care whether they were being serious or not. It stops now. “Now, could you two stop arguing about something so ridiculous and get Zuko onto Appa, like you were supposed to do as soon as Aang arrived?”

She then left them to it, going over to comfort her six-legged friend. Aang was unsure if Appa would even let Zuko onto his saddle. The prince had almost hurt Appa enough times; whether he accepted the injured prince now was unclear. Aang sent Sokka a shrug, who in turn rolled his eyes. Yet another problem to deal with and they hadn’t even left yet! At this rate they might as well have to build a bloody mud hut on this stretch of sand. They’d been here long enough. 

“Right--” Sokka stretched this shoulders out “--you grab his legs, Aang. I’ve got the arms.” 

Aang paused mid-movement, looking up at Sokka with a serious look. “Sokka, no. We’ve gotta be gentle. Katara would be pretty upset if we opened any of his wounds.” Sokka, for at least a moment, looked like he couldn’t care less, but begrudgingly admitted that Aang was right. 

“Alright, Aang. We’ll do it your way. You grab his legs… and I’ll hold his shoulders.” He paused to see if that would get an early response. “Don’t worry,” he continued in a somewhat exaggerated tone, “I’ll try my hardest to be gentle.” 

The Avatar just sent him another look; this time he looked irritated. “Your sarcasm does you no credit.” 

“Nor does standing here any longer… I’ve got enough sand in my boots to build a castle.”

“...Shame it’s not in your mouth,” the Avatar whispered just loud enough to have a reason to develop a smirk. He knew Sokka had purposely ignored that, but he also knew it was taking everything he had not to retaliate. That didn’t stop the warrior from sending him a glare.

火-水-土-空-闪

“The Sun and the Moon. They’re the embodiment of Yin and Yang. They’re polar opposites, never harming one another, never catching each other’s eye. Never do they feel the warm embraces of each other’s loving soul. They simply take comfort in knowing that the other is there. This knowledge is known within their ever loving hearts. 

Avatar Aang. Hear these words again; know the very balance that is needed to make these words true is fleeting. Without you, there is no hope, and with no hope, there is no victory for the good, and without the good, evil will triumph. 

We are here. You should take this comfort as your own. We are connected, always. This is my final warning to you. You must succeed! In return, I promise you, the world will find peace in your victory.”

“Ah!” Aang blotted upright. Taking a moment to fight for breath, he was eventually able to wipe the cold sweat off his brow. The chilling wind howled in his ears, fully awakening the Avatar to its kingdom. They flew high, far from the view of any on land.

Holding on to Appa’s horn, he made sure the bison knew he had nothing to worry about.  
He then looked back around to see if his commotion had awoken anyone. A relieved sigh quickly escaped him when he realised that both Sokka and Katara were still asleep. Even Momo hadn’t heard him. He found that a little odd, knowing the keen hearing of the lemur but took what he could get. He relaxed--though only a little. That dream…it had repeated itself since the day he had been told that he was the Avatar, and to this day, he didn’t know who the woman that spoke to him was. He had only ever heard her speak. 

Aang had no trouble remembering the dream itself. Though it differed from recent years. The lady’s voice was quieter and the atmosphere wasn’t as beautiful as it had once been. The dream was weakening, like the final leaf falling from an ancient oak tree. Everything must die; everything once young must grow old. Everything must come to an end.

He pulled his knees up to his chin and rested it there. Calmer now, Aang looked at the distant stars that shone brightly in the night sky. But in the middle, out shining them all, was the moon itself. The true king. He would rule the sky until the dawn’s light gently touched his fading presence. The moon was full, showing off its true strength, giving power to those who could move the Moon Spirit’s beautifully powerful element. 

Aang then looked over to the unconscious Prince of the Fire Nation. A cold sadness sparkled in his eyes. He didn’t know if he should feel sorry for him or merely say that this was karma’s doing.

Fire burns; it destroys. 

But, he then remembered that water, earth, and air could do the same.

No element was innocent from its destructive nature. They all had the power to take, and all did destroy. Fire had just made a bad name for itself, Aang frowned at his own thoughts, no, it hadn't--the people who had the knowledge to bend its amazing strength had. Fire was simply fire. For all the elements had a purpose in existing. Fire brought light and warmth. It heated food, and it guided people out of darkness. It had been man who had decided to take that power and give it its now gruesome reputation.

People had long forgotten this. It wasn’t the element that had started this long war--fire existed long before man even breathed the air. Nature was nature, and it would act accordingly. Nature wasn’t organized; it didn’t discriminate; it just did what it was designed to do. Man had changed its course, seamlessly giving the impression that they had also altered fire’s nature. When in reality, that simply wasn’t possible.

And so, the answer was now clear to him. A Firebender had the ability to be kind, as much as a Waterbender had the ability to be cruel. Everyone should at least be given the chance to prove who they would be. And Aang did see good in Zuko, even if it was hidden behind an angry front most of the time. So Aang decided to give Zuko that chance… That was if he ever woke up. 

He looked away and relaxed back down against Appa’s massive left horn, ready to fall back to sleep. But before he could, something caught his attention from the corner of his eye. Aang looked back, just to check if he'd been seeing things. He had been right to do so, as he soon saw Zuko once again shiver violently under his blanket. Sympathy showed itself to be the victor. 

Being careful not to wake Momo, Aang made his way over to the prince’s side. He probably couldn’t keep warm in his unconscious state. Believing this, Aang retrieved his blanket from his pack and put it over Zuko’s shaking body. It was thick, designed to keep the heat in. It had been a gift from a Firebender just before the war, from a friend that Aang missed dearly to this day. It only took a few moments for Zuko’s body to react, and the shaking soon stopped. 

Returning back to his spot, Aang finally closed his eyes, whispering “night” to the world.

火-水-土-空-闪

Iroh, for all his experiences, had never met a man quite like Zhao. So crude and ruthless was he that in the darkest corners of the world, people whispered of his foul deeds, snarling as they did and wanting nothing more than to put his head on a spike! To him, he was simply beyond all measure of their words. He was completely and utterly devoted to himself, loyal to only his own advances. 

The retired general would have been lying if he had said that he was at all surprised that the man had the audacity to claim himself a hero of the Fire Nation. Oh, how the meaning of the word ‘hero’ had changed since he was young. A hero was someone who put others long before the desires of their own heart. Heroes saved people. If a hero was to be named, it wasn’t Zhao; he was not the person who should be declaring such absurd things. But despite all the negativity, he was indeed still a clever man, smart enough to know how to advance in the military ranks--to get the Fire Lord what he wanted--and in turn and most importantly, get his own way.

“More tea, Iroh?” the admiral offered. Iroh, though still polite, declined, not wanting to be here any longer than he had to be. The distaste never left his mouth; the anger, though bottled within, still somehow showed itself in the disgust of Iroh’s tone. 

The admiral chuckled then, slowly putting down the pot, taking his seat. For a moment, nothing was said. Zhao had that look on his face. He was pondering, thinking how he could word his next sentence. He had to be careful. He knew Iroh well enough to know that any mistake could mean his eventual death.

Finally, Zhao played his cards; leaning forward, a sudden look of false sympathy covered his true motives. “I was sorry to hear about your nephew--” Iroh shut his eyes tight. He was never one to be rude, but he cut deep into the admiral’s trying words.

“No. You’re not.” He got right to the point. Though, the retired general’s harsh tone did not seem to offend him, and Zhao simply leaned back in his chair, his stance matching that of a man who played twisted mind games. Two fingers pressed gently against his lips; he watched the older man with an intriguing nature. “Let’s not pretend, as we sit here, Zhao, that we do not know why the other isn’t here.” Zhao smirked, nodding slowly.

“Fair enough. No more games. Out of respect,” he lied, enjoying himself a little too much. He put his hands on the table, interwinding them as if he already knew how to win this. “Though I want to make sure that my hunch is correct. Why are you here?” 

“You killed my nephew.” 

“Really?” For someone who had just been accused of such a feat, Zhao didn’t at all look surprised. “And how is it you have come to that preposterous conclusion, Iroh?” His tone darkened, rising a little in volume; his features reflected that of his voice, accidently showing his true nature.

“Because I know you.” Iroh was as calm as ever. He, too, knew how to play this game.

“That’s hardly a just reason to accuse me. Though, let's suppose you did have just cause, I don’t gather you have any evidence to support this accusation of treason, Iroh?” 

“Why do you ask? If I did, you would soon know about it. Though I do have a guard of yours, who after a lot of tea, spoke of pirates leaving this tent a lot richer than when they had entered. Then my nephew's ship is blown up two nights later. Do you have any idea how many people that blast killed?” 

“No. Because I had nothing to do with it. That guard needs to have his lying tongue cut out,” Zhao casually stated. He was a man of no remorse. “If Zuko’s dealings with pirates went sour, that’s not my doing. Therefore, if you have no evidence, Iroh, than this conversation is over.” He paused, looking ashamed at the once great man. “Iroh. This is obviously an act of desperation. Fueled only by grief, and so I’m going to overlook this whole episode of yours. Just this once.” He talked as if believed Iroh to be stupid, pulling at his heart, making fun of his grief.

Iroh’s ability to contain his anger was that of a master. But it had taken years of pain and experience, even more so in training. Firebenders were known for their short fuses and flaring tempers. And so, they were taught how to control fire from the moment that it was discovered. If they lost that control and they did not release it in time, the fire inside would rage until there was nothing left. Iroh exhaled, a hint of sadness could be heard. For now, unfortunately for him, Zhao was right. 

“Are you sure I can't interest you in some more tea, Iroh?” he spoke as if nothing had been said. But his expression, it harbored a knowing smirk of victory. Iroh didn't answer in time however, as Jee entered. Zuko’s lieutenant walked over to the retired general, completely ignoring the pig opposite him. 

“Sir?” Jee's eyes held a sympathetic nature and was endlessly giving. It was real, and even though the prince and his top lieutenant hadn’t always gotten along, the man had been told enough to understand why things were like the way they were. With that understanding and a little more fairness given on Zuko's part, the bitterness had faded--and respect soon replaced it. “Darren has requested to see you, sir. I hope I wasn’t interrupting you, Iroh?” 

“Us,” Zhao said firmly. But as before, the lieutenant simply pretended he wasn’t there. Ignore me again, you half-wit, and I’ll have your head as an example. His eyebrow twitched in a silent rage, his grip tightening on the cup in his hand. So hard was the pressure, it threatened to crack.

“No, no, I was just leaving,” Iroh said as he slowly stood. He looked to Zhao and thanked him for the tea. The admiral nodded in return and within a few moments was left in his own creeping solitude. He stood quickly and without warning. The chair flung back, somehow being forced to slide across the hard, mud ridden ground. 

He turned away, slenderly putting his hands behind his back. There had to be a way out of this!


	2. The Rise of Varamon

Believing In Lies, by

Fire's Ashes

Chapter Two:

The Rise of Varamon

火-水-土-空-闪

"Welcome, little pawn, welcome to my game..."

The voice echoed through seemingly nothing - from nowhere, and then it diminished itself as if it had never been. Yet, its venomous course crept closer, chilling even the most hearty of souls - and when all was said and done, a deafening silence choked the arid, dead air with a dreadful and heartless efficiency. It was no longer important, forgotten... and so he made it so. This was his memory now!

Varamon, the once feared "dream stalker," did not care for the pain his cruel actions inflicted and showed no remorse in doing so. Nor did he show signs of a willingness to even look upon the possibility of change. He was the dread bringer, the soul tearer, the ominous spirit who mortals once feared - and he would do anything to have this reputation once again secularly within the realm of man, and he planned to start here with whatever he could get: Katara.

"...And so, this memory - your life - is mine!"

Varamon had stolen what had once been Katara's home - the memory of it anyhow. And now it was something unrecognisable. It felt more isolated than before - the dread fed upon the loneliness Katara had so long ago felt inside her. This memory—its place in time in this ever-changing word—had come and gone, but to a few, it could never be forgotten. It was apart of who they were, still marked upon their grieving hearts.

Varamon revealed with a somewhat tainted glee, as he played its twisted game. Varamon knew every trick, how to toy with people's gullible minds, how to pull at their hearts and torment their souls.

The dream stalker took everything he could find: knowledge, memories. He took them for himself and gave it back in the form of that person's worst fears, the darkest and most feared; the ones locked far away from one's heart.

The Spirit watched Katara with a steady eye. He studied the discomfort in her features. She would wake soon…

The bitter laugh that followed on Varamon's deceitful tongue did not fade as quickly as the last cold words - he wanted them to remain - and this time, it would never be forgotten…

火-水-土-空-闪

Katara awoke with a frightened start. Her body flung itself forwards from where she lay, and without a moment to compose herself, her instinct was to grab at her chest. Her most recent memory sat in the forefront of her mind, and then her heart pounding deep within her chest caused a sudden forgetfulness. It harshly echoed within her ears and took away her ability to even think for herself. Even as she tried to calm her erratic breathing, she could not focus, and as hard as she might have tried, her mind wandered to unanswered questions.

Where am I - Where's Aang - Sokka!?

She could not have comprehended the uncertainty that infected her chest then; it chipped away at her steady mind and gave her no comfort. But before her mind could even think on it a moment longer, she felt her body throb with a tense and undeniable ache. It felt as if she had lived for a thousand years, and that she carried the burden of knowing that she would live for a thousand more. She groaned and attempted to stretch her pulsing muscles.

Sweat had by now firmly pressed itself against her brow. There had to be an easier way to find comfort. Instead, Katara frantically began to look for something that could calm her bewildered, hazed mind. When she found nothing but an empty snowy void glaring back at her, it caused her heart to sink. But her mind, her mind was a different story altogether: she had so many questions—questions she'd wished her mind had never thought to ask. They brought her no clarity or understanding of where she was or why she was there. Katara felt as if she was losing her mind to a torment that she was not even aware of. Either she was blind to it—or she simply refused to acknowledge it. Yet, it was undoubtedly there, taking her mind away one bit at a time.

Without warning, a sudden gust of wind howled from high above, spreading itself across the ground and right through her body; a small amount of snow landed upon her lap, making this all seem so real. Then again... Why wouldn't it be?

Somehow it was still unexpected. And yet, how could she have never noticed that chill before, in a place that held the burden of ice and snow? Katara's expression twisted somewhat; it held her concerns, and it carried so heavy on her shoulders. It showed her doubt to this empty world, and though she might have taken a small ounce of comfort that no one was around, in her weakest moment, she also knew how she dreaded facing this alone. There was something wrong, something terrifying about where she found herself. Or maybe it was the loneliness that somehow felt so familiar to her, and then the confusion that followed. It was as if she had been here before, but there was nothing in sight, nothing at all to cooperate the feelings she felt growing inside her mind. There was nothing, only the snow and the howling of the lonesome wind. It seemed louder to her now, as she found herself listening. It was as if Katara was the first company it had seen in the longest time. It wrapped itself around her face and neck, through her arms, and around her body. It felt almost like a tightening grip; its cold touch caused her body to shake and its howl, that accompanied her ears, caused her heart to pound once again, as if her heart knew the failing of her mind and was trying to overpower what could cause her to forget herself to remind Katara that she was still alive - to tell her not to become apart of his game.

Seeing no other choice, she found herself standing, slowly at first, while wrapping her arms around her upper body ever so slowly… Her legs shaking, feeling like unstable icicles, so much so that she had to give herself a moment to regain her balance on the unstable snow ridden ground. Katara had never felt so weak in all her life, and yet, it wasn't the cold that sent shaking chills down her spine; she felt more frightened by the loneliness she found herself in. There was not a soul to be found, and her eyes looked in every possible direction. She had to fight the urge to let her emotions free as she felt the warm, salty familiar feeling of tears prick at the corners of her eyes, threatening to fall.

Her first steps were that of a child taking their own. Her knees felt like they were about to give at any moment. Katara held her arms low in front of her as she felt herself almost falling forwards. Sacrificing the warmth they were providing. But she somehow managed to save herself and carried on regardless.

This despair couldn't possibly last forever - right?

A feeling of pure and unpredictable panic placed itself in the forefront of Katara's mind, intertwining itself with a sudden impending dread that threatened to choke her almost instantly. It made itself apparent - noteworthy - it didn't waste a moment of its time, nor did it show a care in the world. She wasn't so sure where she was, but she was sure that the fear she felt poisoning her from the inside, weakening her muscles, decaying her mind, was something she could have never comprehended. Something she didn't deserve to experience.

But what choice did she have when she didn't even know what was happening…

Katara wrapped her arms back around her body as a chill passed through her. Her breath felt like ice against her lips. But as the wind howled harshly, she found it impossible to find any warmth within her embrace. Her arms felt numb, useless. She just felt so cold, as if she could fall asleep at any moment. Her eyes felt so heavy like she'd never found sleep before. Her mind seemed to be against her better judgement, telling her that all she needed to do was rest. That she needed to sleep and could go no further without it, and right at that dark moment, it seemed so convincing.

You'll forget the cold and find the comfort you so desperately need within it. Katara's eyes nearly shut; the words were like a lullaby.

No… NO!

Katara's eyes shot open. Her breath caught itself within the back of her throat as she jumped to stop herself. She immediately reacted, as if she'd felt death's ominous grip on her shoulder at that very moment. She tried to breathe in irraictly - panicking - her eyes held themselves wide now, no longer tired and looking around frantically, trying to regain some of her composure. Her breath felt like shards of ice, and although she expected to start coughing right then, nothing came. Nothing but silence as she tried to breathe - trying to save herself from what she thought were her own foolish hallucinations.

Though a time came when she just froze, finding herself listening. Her eyeballs lifted themselves to a sudden noise in the distance, a noise, she believed, that had no source. But all Katara could hear was the drumming of her heart rhythmical throbbing inside her chest and her slow, calming breathing filling in the gaps that once held silence.

Although now uneasy, Katara attempted to ignore what was seamlessly nothing and tried to remember what she had previously been trying to accomplish. Nothing of value came to mind, and so Katara, now on edge, glanced back one last time before she just started walking forwards again, remembering, if nothing else, not to let her guard down.

火-水-土-空-闪

As to be expected, Sokka once again woke to the sound of Aang's voice. It was drowning out his half attempts at sleep, and soon he gave up trying altogether. The warrior stretched his arms above his head and took a few moments to gather the effort to actually get up from where he sat. While admittedly it wasn't the most comfortable spot in the world, it was certainly better than what some people were going through.

This thought brought him to his sister, who still laid upon his lap. She just seemed lost. Her eyes remained tightly shut as if she was resisting something. She would occasionally move, though the movements seemed pained, unnatural. Sokka sighed heavily, as he felt the weight of responsibility finally slammed itself upon his defenceless shoulders. He groaned, already fed up - not with Katara - just simply with the situation, they all found themselves in. His fingers ran through the edge of her hair line again, wishing it would give his eyes something more hopeful to look at. Nothing seemed to change, but that meant nothing when it came to caring for his little sister. He didn't care how long it took… He would hear her voice again, that familiar voice, the one that sounded so much like their moth-

He stopped.

Mother.

Sokka hadn't thought of that word and the person behind it in so long now. Though it still carried a considerable weight, tugging every so often at the back of his mind - however, it was a memory that never came to show itself at its forefront - for it held feelings he believed were wrong to show; there was a weakness to be found in such things… And so it remained locked away, safe from the feelings of the heart.

He had to be the strong, for his sister, for his tribe. And so it had never crossed his mind how much he would miss her. The more he thought on it now, the more it made him realise how much he actually relied on Katara. Katara was all he had left from what he had left behind - his home and his people - but most of all, of what they'd both lost so many years before. Their mother.

His mother…

His beautiful and loving mother. He had to look away from Katara at that moment. Closing his eyes, never wanting his emotions to show, he bit his lip, a little frightened at the thought of having to face this.

While Katara had their mother's necklace, Sokka… had nothing but Katara. His grip tightened then. There was no way Sokka would let the tears show, but by the Spirits, his throat burned and bulged as he tried to rid it of the lump that had formed inside. He was kind of glad of Aang's persistence on having to talk to Appa when he was tried - it meant the boy was distracted and looking away from him - Sokka didn't have the heart to let the young Avatar see him like this. Not after all the boy had been through with his own personal losses. This was his burden to bare. That was just how it was meant to be.

Fighting this battle alone however hurt him more than anything this war could ever throw at him: the thought of also losing his little sister to it ripped him apart inside. A thought that he never wanted to become a reality. Gritting his teeth, he shook it off. In all truth, he'd never had to think about any of this so vividly before. He breathed steadily, trying to somewhat forget, and looked to the red-tinted sky. It was beautifully distracting but not enough to rid him of the feelings he felt. It would never be enough - never again.

Time passed, and with it, Sokka began to feel a little better about himself. And after a while, he noticed that the young Avatar had stopped talking to Appa and was now wandering the short trip over to him.

"You ok, Sokka?"

"Hm," Sokka looked to Aang then, not out of surprise but simply because he was still far away in his own thoughts.

"Well?" Aang inquired again.

And again, Sokka found himself having to look back to his friend, actually believing he had already answered the first time around, responding for what he thought was the second time, as if it was turning into this big deal he didn't want. "I'm fine, Aang, really." The Avatar didn't seem at all that convinced.

"I know you're worried, and that's ok."

Sokka side glanced the boy, almost suspicious of his intentions.

What's he trying to do?

He thought about actually asking, but found silence had once again replaced the air around them, and if he was honest, he prefered it. The young Avatar sent Sokka a tense but sympathetic glance before looking back down to Appa's leather saddle, not really knowing what to say anymore. But despite that, after a moment he smiled slightly. He then stood and went over to check on Zuko, who had been laying next to the uninterested warrior since they had found Katara unconscious. But before doing anything else, he turned his head back to Sokka, who by now was looking to see why the Avatar cared to check on someone, who in his mind, was so unimportant.

"Try not to worry too much; Katara can take care of herself, and she knows you're looking out for her." There was a long pause, and Aang was soon convinced he would never get a response so he was then surprised to hear Sokka speak up.

"Yeah, I know Aang… it's just-" Sokka cut off and directed his head away. Aang wasn't stupid; he knew what this was really about. Katara had spoken about it often enough, but a word never touched upon how her brother felt. Aang didn't think this was intentional, but he was curious if he allowed himself to be honest. And although he was young, maybe too young, he knew the feeling of loss and the guilt that came with such a feeling. On that note, the young Avatar thought he could maybe help. The thought was a genuine one, but maybe a little misguided.

"Have you ever spoken about it?" Although Sokka knew what Aang was asking of him, the question still caught Sokka off guard; it truly looked like he had stopped breathing on the spot, and that alone had answered Aang's question without the need for words. Though Sokka did shake his head eventually.

"No." Sokka, in his own way, somehow found the strength to look to the Airbender again. He felt ashamed that this was affecting him so much, and now of all times, but ever since they had found princey-boy on that beach… His mind could barely process the thoughts he was so used to just shrugging off, though this was more out of habit than actual ability or experience.

"Like I said, Sokka, it's ok not to be ok… you don't always have to be the inscrutable warrior all the time. You're allowed to be feeling these things." Aang paused, he didn't want to say too much, realising it probably wasn't his place, and he didn't know how much Sokka could actually take.

"She's all I got left, Aang." Sokka looked down to his sister as he tried his absolute best to at least continue. He knew Aang meant well. "Of…" He couldn't say the word. And his attempts at trying seemed, to him at least, to cause a long and uncomfortable silence and so he reacted, a little too quickly, trying to fill it. He said what he knew he felt, although accidentally, and to his absolute horror, aloud, not realising then how much it would hurt to share such a thing. "I never even got to say goodbye-"

The realization of what he just said hit Sokka right through the chest. It burned his heart as if a hot knife had been plunged right through it. It twisted its grip and his mind screamed out in agony. He didn't want to remember!

It was enough to stop Sokka in his tracks. He stared forwards, his deep blue eyes enraptured with grief as if the knife he had imagined puncturing his heart was indeed real. He found no ability to carry on and somewhat choked on his words from then on. He had never done this before, and he didn't even want to do it now. He felt embarrassed and guilty all at the same time. Aang never replied. He just watched his friend with hesitation, thought masking it in a supportive manner, trying to remind Sokka that he was there to listen. In truth, however, he didn't know what to say. Nothing he said from that moment on would mend the open wound they had both just opened...

I can't do this. The shame Sokka felt never subsided, and with it, his heart broke. It was just too much - and yet somehow he still didn't let it show, but nevertheless, he still felt the pain inside, as if this was all some kind of dark secret he had long forgotten, and it had finally broken free.

Sokka never looked back, letting the conversation go and Aang knew with that abrupt end that it was time to leave it be. He remained cautious, but nevertheless, understanding. The Avatar had to remember that he hadn't known the siblings that long and there was still so much that he had to learn about the pair and vise-versa.

"I'm here if you need someone." The response wasn't at all demanding; it was simply an understanding that no other words needed to be spoken… but if he ever changed his mind…

Eventually, Aang simply turned back to Zuko, and Sokka concentrated on his sister, both content on being where they were needed.

火-水-土-空-闪

Varamon watched, forever intrigued.

Foolish girl. Why won't you submit? His venomous voice echoed within his twisted mind.

Iridescent and dark, he drifted, whipping through the air, his smoke-like mask twisting with every movement. A flash of opaque eyes showed as the mask that held their mysterious and dark haze cracked open from each side; his razor-sharp talons tinged upon the edge of the icy rock he laid upon, almost cracking through as he lifted himself upon the strength of his arms. His charismatic tongue often flicking like lighting in between his sharp teeth, that held the same amount of solid form as a cloud of vapor. The rest of him vanished and flickered, never remaining and forever shifting around himself.

As the mask consumed his face again, his eyes became blind. However, Varamon still saw the world, he still heard Katara's pulsing heartbeat, even through the sound of the hollow wind. The Spirit could still sense her fear. His grin spread the length of his face. His mask cracking only ever so slightly; revealing his lower jaw. He chuckled, amused that he knew something that his victim didn't.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: I find myself writing this because life simply got in the way of this chapter and I've taken forever to write a chapter that should have taken no longer than about two weeks to get done. I'm sorry. Life has been hard this year and right now and I'm honestly struggling but am doing what I can for this story and for you. I believe in quality over quantity and once again I would like to remind you all that I have an amazing beta-reader that has been so supportive and understanding in all of what you see here.
> 
> Thank you for all the reviews, supportive words, and thank you to all the followers.
> 
> I hope you enjoyed the chapter nevertheless, and thank you for reading.
> 
> Fire. 火


	3. Worries of the Past

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Having lost his memories, Zuko wakes up to find himself surrounded by little more than vaguely familiar faces. Lies begin to spiral out of control; until they finally become too much for even the GAang to believe. Rated T. Zutara! Slight AU. Rewrite of the 2013 original.
> 
>  
> 
> Disclaimer: I do NOT own A:tLA, and claim no payment from writing this story.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Good morning/evening…. Afternoon? Either way, no matter where you are in the world, I hope you’re well!
> 
> Welcome to the final rewrite of Believing In Lies. The original was written over five years ago--by a less experienced me. I loved the story idea, and it had stuck with me ever since. And so I have decided to give it--and myself--another chance.
> 
> And while I’ve got your attention the on the A/N(s), I would just like to introduce my fantastic beta reader, Ana-DaughterofHades. An incredible writer, and a truly inspirational beta reader. I would recommend her to anyone! If you enjoy what you read--remember that she had a lot to do with it.
> 
> Thank you, my friend. I owe you greatly! ^^
> 
> (Please refer to FF.net for more)
> 
> Profile: https://www.fanfiction.net/u/4988005/  
> Story: https://www.fanfiction.net/s/12814444/1/Believing-In-Lies

As the dilapidated warship passed through the sea's waves, she groaned, and a weariness could be heard echoing through her shallow halls. It would have been clear to any skilled engineer on board-she was beginning to struggle under the strain of active duty.

The waves themselves showed no care for this revelation however-lifting her up without a second thought, only to send her crashing back down moments later. The sea water lifted high over her bow, the smell of salt all too familiar to the old general who sat upon her deck. Iroh watched the sea with a somewhat troubled glance. Ah, the Moon Spirit… You have always had an impressive way of letting your anger be known.

Was this sudden animosity a warning or was it him candidly showing the world that it was time for him to depart from them all? Either way, this was a pure and unmistakable sign that this war had to end, for what else would force this world to do so? If the legend was to be believed and the moon did indeed leave, the sun might soon follow, and oh, by her gracefulness, that was a chilling thought. This prolonged aggression needed to end soon and not just for the other nations that were losing this war...

"The Moon and Sun spirits' patience is unending. They will lead their people by example-and towards peace." The truth in those ancient words were almost as hard to grasp as believing the intention behind them. But who could blame Dairk's and Myaira's anger-what Spirit would show patience forevermore to the circumstances surrounding the world these past hundred years? No soul truly knew the answer, and those who were unknowing often asked questions… and in their hatefulness and fear, people would often believe in any answer to find some form of peace in their heart, but this false hope would not be so indoctrinating on the mind. A sane man's mind that is. It would soon question the answers it found, as was the instinct of logic, which would often over-power the purest emotion of the heart—hope.

Iroh, however, knew the story of the Moon and Sun spirits well-of Dairk, an ordinary Firebender who gave up everything to become something he wasn't supposed to be, just so that his wife, Myaira, could return to her people once more. How a Firebender became such a being was now seen as an unbearable consequence of something that no longer existed-harmony. For the Water Tribes now saw the Fire Nation as monsters, incapable of selfless, heroic actions.

In hindsight, to the world now, it had been for Myaira. For love. People had come to question everything. The legend was now seen as a myth and the truth was hidden behind lies and corruption.

But love wasn't true without respect and understanding to guide it. Back then, Dairk was a hero-he had shown a kindness that the world had not seen in a Firebender for well over a century-or so they had conveniently come to believe.

Though, it was believed that Myaira never did return to her people in the end. Once she had learned of her husband's loyalty to her, and the actions of her distant and unforgiving people, her heart froze, and the Waterbender turned away from them in her time of grief. The rest was never documented in the land that she had once hailed from. At the time, the Fire Nation took it upon themselves to tell the remainder of the story. Some elders still told children the story in hushed whispers. And yet now, their words were somewhat hearsay. As if the story had been removed from history.

Once, the Fire Nation spoke of Myaira's name with pride and gratefulness, for it was believed that she became the sun, to not only save them, as her husband had saved the Water Tribes, but so that her love, the moon, would never be alone in his journey across the stars. It was said that it had unfrozen her cold heart-and in her dying words she held true to the fact that her husband had saved her once again.

Deep down though, the world must have known that the circumstances were simply much crueler than that. Iroh himself wouldn't claim to know if Dairk's decision now were held against his people. Nor was Myaira's to hers all those centuries ago. Nevertheless, no matter the truth, with their love, in that very moment, they had not only saved their lover's culture but also their own, and in turn, the world.

The "Elite" of the Fire Nation would now call Dairk a traitor, spitting on his name as if his actions played no role in their existence. Although, they were more than accepting of him and his actions when it suited their needs. But like the Water Tribes, they had forgotten how much they had both sacrificed. Dairk and Myaria's love wasn't just for themselves-it was also for their people and they were wise enough to know of that love, no matter how distant they had become from each other. And that showed in all that they had relinquished, for the world would not have lived on without them.

What the Fire Nation failed to comprehend was the importance that the moon played on the very seas they claimed to rule. For those in the Elite, they maintained quite abruptly that they had to control every aspect of people's everyday lives. They could move metal through a powerful world without any form of resistance and so that must mean they would and should triumph over it all. That lie quickly spread through the ranks of the men; they grew self-indulgent and ultimately greedy with their own victories. As the hundredth year of the war approached, their metal machines spanned the length of the world's oceans. Their fleets overwhelmed anything the rest of the world could throw at it, and so, their selfish hearts assumed that they controlled that of unquestionable power, too.

Most were just lost in the hatred of a few, and those few still managed to threaten the balance of the world. The Fire Nation's soul-its once great and loving people-was fading from exhaustion. For all men had limits. The weight of the world pushing against them, no matter the power they held, weighed so heavily on its heart, that it finally threatened to crack.

火-水-土-空-闪

The Dragon of the West examined his tea for what could have only been the fourth time that afternoon-and still showed no interest in actually drinking it. He sat alone upon the deck of the moving vessel, watching as the birds flew over in their mass numbers.

Placing his cup back on his table, Iroh glanced at his game of Pai Sho. Ava, the guard who had stood with him that afternoon, had offered him a game, but he had declined the kind girl's request. Which in turn had shocked the woman half to death. She had asked if he was feeling well and offered to get the ship's doctor. Iroh had laughed; the thought was genuine, as the anxiety in her eyes had been as clear as the sun in the daylight sky. But he simply explained that he only wanted to enjoy the solidarity of his own thoughts. She had smiled then, understanding his request. She apologized and left the retired general to think alone. She had only been there to keep Iroh company in this dark time of his-anyone who knew Iroh well enough could take a firm guess that he didn't need a guard to protect him.

Iroh closed his eyes and inhaled deeply, composing his thoughts in a peaceful manner. A skill that his nephew still had to learn... and Iroh would have taught him everything he knew. Because his nephew, despite everything, had cause to feel the way he did. The impatience he felt-it was justified. He just didn't know who else to blame other than himself.

I would give everything just so I could have you here one last time. To at least say goodbye… to tell you how proud I was to call you a son of mine. Iroh exhaled then, and the sorrow he felt showed plentiful in his demeanour. Though his expression soon softened as he saw Darren approach from the stairs. If he was honest, Iroh had time to prepare. He had heard someone approaching long before they could be seen. He smiled at the young lad but nevertheless he still bared a hint of grief. It weighed heavily on his shoulders. The old general was exhausted, and he wouldn't lie about his sorrow. Nodding, the boy knew that Iroh more than welcomed his presence. Darren wasn't to know that Iroh had requested solidarity. But his slow approach was that of caution. The boy wasn't frightened; he just didn't know if this was the appropriate time.

"Iroh, sir." He paused then, as if there was a silent rule to wait until the general asked him to speak. Merely out of respect for the great man. To Iroh, it was an unnecessary gesture, but Zuko had always implemented it with the crew.

"It's alright, son. Say what you came to say." Iroh knew that this gave the boy some confidence. As Darren shifted his stance, standing prouder than he had been only a moment ago.

"Thank you, sir."

"Since you're here, why don't you join me?" Iroh gestured to the empty chair next to him. His own pondering thoughts had begun to become a draining aspiration, and if he was honest, he could use a new perspective on the situation. Even if the subject matter was merely a distraction.

In his young age and lack of experience dealing with "down time" with a much higher ranking officer, Darren hesitated, though he knew being rude by declining was not an option. "Of course, sir," the young boy smiled gently, eventually accepting Iroh's offer. His smile remained as he moved towards the chair - an indication that even people who had not known the general for the decades that some had were also trying to keep the kind man's mind occupied from his recent traumatic ordeal.

Once settled, Darren almost immediately took notice of the untouched cup of tea sitting idly upon the table next to his superior; simultaneously a cool breeze gently crinkling its surface as it passed, making its presence all the more… unusual. Though still a rare sight, Iroh had been alone up here for a good few hours at least and common sense told the young officer that the drink would probably now be too cold to be considered a delight - though still drinkable. A tea, especially one that belonged to the Dragon of the West, was to be enjoyed. Or in his words: savoured.

Iroh, who was famous for his soft spot for the drinkable herb, was extremely fussy when it came to a "good cup of tea," no matter the circumstances the man found himself in. Though Darren had probably realised by now that this particular situation was the lone exception.

Clearing his throat, he would admit that he was a little concerned at his discovery and his side glance at the older man showed his growing pity. The Dragon of the West was, in one word, a tough human being, but every man had a breaking point. All people do.

No matter how strong a man claimed to be - the mind, in the most brutal of hardships, could bring any man to his knees.

Thinking it would be best if Iroh was surrounded by some of the things he loved most, Darren offered to pour Iroh a fresh cup of Jasmine Tea, and he at least expected the general to nod, as he always did. This fond and familiar instinct was instant, and the very fact that Darren picked up the pot was not the surprising factor in this recognizable situation. To anyone in this crew this was all second nature, a natural occurrence that came with knowing this incredible man. It was just how it had always been, and no one would want that to change. And despite his rejections to the matter, Zuko would have probably been one of the first to notice if it ever did.

Darren was ready and able to follow the order he was expecting. But as Iroh politely declined, the boy's face fell - his smile all but a distant memory.

"Sir?" Darren's voice carried his disappointment; and yet with it was a hint of sadness. His eyes showed a deeper rooted concern, for it told of words he couldn't voice. He was worried, and there was nothing he could do to help. Darren sighed, "please sir, if you will not drink, can I at least request a game of Pai Sho?" This got the officer a more detailed reaction and even after a while, a genuine smile emerged.

"You have not said what you originally came to say," Iroh observed, and expressed a guilty tone, though one was not needed.

"It's just good to see you smile, sir," Darren chirped, placing the tile set in the right places on the board.

"You are a good boy, Darren - thank you." The Dragon of the West's voice softened, expressing his gratitude to the young lad.

火-水-土-空-闪

The early morning sun rose slowly amongst the parting clouds high above in the now brightening sky, and the view from Appa's saddle was undeniably alluring, wanting nothing more than to be admired by the very few who were privileged enough to appreciate its unique beauty. Katara, however, had no time to admire the view, to her own disappointment.

Not wanting to wake the boys this early she silently crept over to Zuko's side, and the first thing she took notice of was Aang's blanket covering the un-responsive prince.

Though she wasn't at all surprised, Katara still couldn't help but wonder how Aang managed to show such kindness towards someone who-in her eyes-least of all deserved it… And yet, here it was: proof of that very ability laid before her very eyes, and despite her initial rejection, for a blissful moment, it came to soften her weary heart.

Then, just as quick as the last, another heartbeat came and went and she found herself in another moment, a different line of thought. As she had done before she hesitated. She wouldn't pretend to know what was best for Aang, but to warn him against such things like this seemed… appropriate, did it not? Not because she felt any doubt that her friend could not keep himself safe - and still have kindness in his heart - it was more for her own fear that the people he was giving his heart to would not replicate those sort of actions towards him. She just didn't want it to be his downfall. However, maybe she was wrong to ever think for one moment that it was her right to take away the one thing that still connected him to his... estranged people. As of now, he merely had memories of his life with them; who was she to take that away? These were after all his people's teachings and it had led them through many generations of peace. For now, she simply agreed to disagree with herself, and just like before, she pushed the thought aside, almost as quick as a heartbeat.

A sudden and mind-numbing surge of panic washed over her, realizing right there and then that she had spent too much time pondering on her worries that she had forgotten about almost everything. She couldn't have rushed more quickly over herself in that moment.

Zuko, to her dismay, looked devastatingly ill. More so than when they had found him. His skin had once again become unnaturally pale, and not only did he look worse, but no sooner had she placed the back of her hand against his cheek, she had to pull away. Her eyes shivered, plastered with guilt and made her worrying known. But it was as she was speaking to nothing but a ghost-he couldn't see her and who was she going to confide in?

As she quickly removed the damp cloth from Zuko's forehead to drain, it in turn confirmed her suspicions. It would seem that his fever had worsened during the night and the pain it was causing him showed itself clearly enough in his features.

Oh Spirits, what did I do so wrong?!

She whispered her apology upon the wind, wishing that someone would hear. She was truly sorry, and she couldn't deny that she didn't care who he was, she generally thought she had done him a service.

For as much as Katara wanted to hate him for all that he had done in the past, she began to think about what she was supposed to feel now. She placed the back of her hand back upon his forehead, and the heat quickly powered through once again, warming her hand considerably-and yet not as much as before. Katara then began to watch his chest, this time in a more observing manner. His breathing was rushed, still damaged by the discomfort of his injuries, but for an unknown reason it had worsened during the cold night and despite his body's persistence to keep him alive, it would seem that he was struggling terribly.

Without proper and long-term care...

She knew she could try to do what she had done before, but that would simply mean going through the exhaustion she had felt on that beach. Katara didn't know if she had it in her, to go through that all over again.

Katara sighed, troubled by what she faced. She knew well enough that she was no master healer and that fact alone meant it didn't really matter how much her heart was in the right place, it simply meant that she didn't have the skills required to save him.

And for all her free-will and kind spirit, it would seem that this was a battle her heart wasn't going to win.

Her mind would win in the end, no matter how much she protested. The right course of action wasn't always the easiest to admit to or convince oneself of, but if she could just be strong enough to convince her heart of such a hard truth then maybe Zuko would have half a chance of surviving. She was strong, and no one would convince her otherwise, and yet...

I can't do this on my own. Katara bit down hard upon the right side of her lip.

Spirits, what am I going to do?

The Waterbender pondered for a moment, and although she wished that the thought had never entered her mind, she couldn't help but see it as a viable option. If Zuko was going to die, then it would happen whether or not she had the answers… and with that ever looming prospect, she side-eyed Zuko for a brief moment. Could she really let him die, all for the sake of avoiding her own insecurities?

Soon remembering that she had once again forgotten her purpose of being by his side, she began to clean the cloth that had sat idly in her hand with the last of the water from Sokka's old fish stick bowl. She then pressed the water out and placed the cloth back where it was needed most. She should have left it at that, for she needed more sleep than she had allowed herself to have, and in all truth she hadn't had much. But she couldn't help but want to stay.

The way he was, it all seemed so familiar… as if… as if— Katara's trace of thought ended abruptly as it had done so many times before since they'd found the prince, and yet, this moment felt different. Maybe it was from pure exhaustion, or maybe she was just simply overreacting. She really hoped for the latter. And yet, no matter how hard she tried to comfort herself, worry began to creep through her weary mind nevertheless.

Any hope of contentment was soon dashed however, as a sharp shooting pain edged its way through her spine, grabbing her full attention. Her eyes went wide from panic, not knowing the reason for this unexpected pain.

It's just stress. It has to-

The pain cut her off as she was forced to react. Katara tried to grab at the source of the imaginary pain that had now spread through her back and lower abdomen. She clenched her teeth; soon shutting her eyes as tight as her remaining strength would allow and when all else had failed her, Katara tried her hardest to let her mind wonder. But no matter how hard she pushed, and no matter how hard she endured, her torment never subsided and soon a pure and unmistakable fear set it. She didn't know what do with herself. How could she heal what she could not see? The mind, for all its splendour, was playing its cruellest of games.

It was made all the harder by the fact that it felt as if all the air from her body had been forcibly removed, and Katara soon struggled to replace the oxygen that had escaped from her lungs. Placing her shaking hand upon her forehead, she took note of a heated sweat that pushed through to her palm. Katara leaned over as she fought to keep herself upright, but her already exhausted body simply refused, and within a moment or two she blacked out.

火-水-土-空-闪

The boys, who had been oblivious to all that had transpired, awoke soon after. Though in all truth, the warrior of the group was more content to sleep a little while longer as the Airbender attended to Appa. But his eyes were soon forced to flutter open to the sound of a certain familiar voice coming from the other side of their rather enormous ride. Straining his neck, Sokka lifted only his head. His eyes barely open, he attempted to see what had possessed Aang to already be talking this early in the morning. Getting nowhere, Sokka soon gave up, muttering to himself as he turned over, making sure to pull his blanket over his head to protect himself from the kid's obsessive talking.

Unbeknownst to Sokka, Aang's pet lemur had other plans. Since he wasn't getting any more attention from his young master, Momo had become bored and sought something to do.

He didn't have to see Sokka's annoyed glance to know that the boy was no longer in a deep, Sokka-like sleep. Silently, he flew over to one of the high points on Appa's saddle, one that just so happened to be above the sleeping warrior's head; the lemur sat there quietly, licking at its left front paw. At first, Momo watched the Avatar. His back was turned as he happily spoke to his six-legged friend. The lemur then looked over to Katara. Though the creature probably found this to be slightly odd, he saw that she was still asleep. Good. No witnesses.

Without warning, the lemur pounced, landing upon Sokka's body with a shockingly heavy force.

"Ah!" Sokka bolted up, his eyes wide, frantically looking to find the source of his final wake up call. The only thing he came into contact with were two wide eyes staring right back at him. He immediately jumped to the right conclusion. "Why you little-" without thinking Sokka lunged forwards; both arms reached out, trying to grab at the creature.

Between his blanket becoming intertwined with his legs and Momo being too fast for him, he soon lost his balance and found himself coming into contact with Appa's leather saddle. He grunted, his hands failing to stop his awkward fall. Momo, on the other hand, had made his way to Aang's shoulder, and in turn pulled the Airbender's attention away from Appa and to the rather annoyed Sokka, who had yet to move from his uncomfortable position.

"You're awake then?" The rhetorical question caused a massive grin to form on Aang's face, but he might as well have been talking to himself. Sokka failed to give Aang any kind of voiced response. Instead, Sokka sent him a rather irritated side glance. With his face squished against the rough fabric, and the very fact that he was facing away from the very person he was sending his silent threats to, Sokka couldn't see a reason for maintaining his vicious glare for very long, and so pushing himself back up, he then turned to face the Airbender, who any idiot could tell was trying to contain himself from bursting out laughing.

Momo, it would seem, was the only one who got the privilege of a voiced response this early in the morning. A scowl formed as he pointed directly at the lemur, making sure the Avatar wasn't too busy wetting himself to take notice of his complaint.

"You need to contain that little-" Sokka tried to finish what he had started but stopped mid-sentence, this time of his own accord, and simply sent a bemused look into thin air. The frown remained, and Aang was also somewhat puzzled by this sudden silence that had filled the tense air; but he was more worried about what had caused Sokka to become speechless in the first place rather than the tranquillity that had followed it. Though Aang had suddenly wished that he had been paying more attention; in the end, all he could do was send Sokka an identical look and hope it would be enough to find answers.

Without another word, Sokka sent the troubling look directly at Aang, who shrugged, still waiting for an adequate reason for all this apprehension.

"How long have you been awake?" Sokka inquired.

"Uhh," Aang thought for a moment, "about… half an hour. Why?"

Leaving the Avatar's question in the air, Sokka threw the blanket to one side and lifted himself over to where the prince still laid. Not giving him the time of day, he went straight to his sister. This of all things got Aang to move as well. A bewildered yet concerned look was carried with him.

"Is she ok?" Aang's words fell on deaf ears as Sokka merely shook his sister, trying to wake her.

"I don't know. Has she spoken to you this morning?" Aang shook his head. That wasn't the answer he was looking for. "She's always up before me, no expectations." This was a fact; it always had been. And it was that very fact that made this all the more unsettling.

"Maybe she's just exhausted, Sokka," Aang suggested, and Sokka usually would have accepted it. But today, Aang wasn't the voice of reason that he had become so accustomed to, and Sokka sent him a look to correspond with that very feeling.

Always trust your gut.

"My gut says differently." He placed a hand upon his sister's arm, squeezing lightly, but this did nothing to stir her and she remained motionless. The only indication Sokka had that she was alive was the gentle rise and fall of her chest, which gave him a comfort that he was more than grateful for.

He hadn't noticed Aang moving to his side. "We'll be landing soon, Sokka. Let's just give her the time she needs. She'll be fine." The warrior gave the young lad yet another side glance, although this time he was just thankful Aang was there.

"You think that's all this is? Because ever since we found him," Sokka motioned to the prince beside her with his head; a venomous distaste reeked out from the edge of his tongue, "things have been…"

Aang tried to finish when Sokka hesitated, "tense?" The Avatar could not have been more right.

"Yeah. And now this?" Sokka bit his lip, just as Katara always did when she became concerned. Looking down at his sister, a flare of anger threatened to boil over. Aang, for the most part, understood.

"Sokka…" The older boy didn't look directly at him, not this time, but Aang knew he was still there, listening to every word. "She'll be fine - she knows you'll always want to protect her - but sometimes battles must be fought alone for one to learn how to protect themselves."

"From what? You said she was just tired. What does "protecting herself" have to do with anything?" Sokka's frustration grew when he could not understand. Aang sighed, feeling for any person who could do nothing when they believed they were needed the most. The Avatar contemplated on what to say, for he truly did not want to hurt his friend.

"You can't always be there, Sokka. You can't always intervene when you want to. She most likely became weak and passed out."

"My sister is not weak!" The warrior turned to face Aang, offended that he would ever suggest such a thing.

"That's not what I'm saying." Aang was being completely reasonable, when most wouldn't be.

"Then what-"

"You're my friend, and so is she. Like I was saying, she probably fainted. She will wake up when her body believes she's ready to. If you can't protect her, then I sure will try. When one dreams without control, spirits notice, and they become what she dreams. They become the very memories that make her who she is. This can, and does hurt, and there's nothing you can do to change that, but I will keep an eye on her where you can't. That's all I meant." Sokka didn't say a word. How could he not protect his little sister…? "Then again, nothing might come of this and she will simply awaken no worse for wear. Be by her side, though let her rest, alright?" Aang then stood and walked away to give Sokka some space.

Though not before Sokka muttered a genuine "thank you" in Aang's direction.

火-水-土-空-闪

As the Gaang approached their destination, far North of Hei Bai's Forest, the Great Pine Forests that had endured their journey with them for countless miles finally began to become a trace of its former self. Endless lines of trees soon became splintered fragments, and as the sudden bitter cold air hit Appa with an intense ferocity, the final trace of its majesty was left far behind as they continued their journey to Makapu. Aang sat upon Appa's head with Momo fast asleep upon his lap, while Sokka stayed firmly at the back, guarding his sister. Only Sokka would truly know what from. It wasn't as if Zuko would be waking up anytime soon, and if he did, what could he possibly do in his condition? Regardless, they sat in complete stillness. The only thing that truly moved was Appa, though Momo's ears would occasionally twitch in response to his blissful dreams.

Katara, on the other hand, was not in any sort of wonderland. Every time she moved or her face screwed up in discomfort, Sokka would place a hand on the edge of her hairline, rubbing his fingers through her hair. Their mother had done so when they were young, before they dreamt, and whilst Sokka had grown somewhat distant to the custom, Katara still took great solace from the action, and though Sokka thought it was a waste of time, he cared for his sister and whatever brought her comfort gave him some peace of mind.

As she calmed, he stopped the action, removing his hand. Her skin had felt muggy to the touch. He would have to keep an eye on that. A certain Firebender with a fever had been enough stress for one day. However, Aang had taken charge of taking care of that thing, mostly due to the fact that Sokka refused to even look at him, let alone care for him. Sokka simply couldn't care less if Zuko died right there and then. Some spoilt prince wasn't his problem and he wasn't going to start making him his problem anytime soon.

"I think we should land soon. We're not far from Makapu at this point," Aang's voice broke through the silence. "And Appa's been flying for too long as it is." The Avatar looked around to see if Sokka had even heard him. He had and simply agreed.

火-水-土-空-闪

The beating of Zhao's heart echoed in the stillness of his own solidarity. One thud after another-endlessly taunting him-toying with his every thought, analysing every possibility, every fault in his once well thought out plan.

Within this preposterous moment of weakness, he could only picture his own despair if this was to backfire. He sneered, the end of his mouth curling into a vicious snarl.

How could something so brilliantly simple go so wrong? All they had to do was place explosives onto Zuko's ship after he his "attempt" to remove his crew and…

Ugh! Zhao pressed both his thumb and finger on the bridge of his nose, exhaling his frustration into the dimly lit room. What could you expect from a bunch of insignificant, simple minded pirates? He knew he should have hired some proper mercenaries.

I am surrounded by Idiots! Snapping his arm back down. He positioned them behind his back with an almost unnaturally cool efficiency, as if he had rehearsed this very moment. To clear his mind, he began to wander slowly around the limited space he had been allocated. The simpletons who had arranged his accommodations couldn't even get the small detail of space right.

Though in all truth, compared to his men's tents, he was living in a palace. But no one would dare let Zhao know of the naked truth. Zhao couldn't see passed the lens he had created for himself.

His mind once again bombardment itself, trying to think of a way he could get out of this mess those imbeciles had put him in. He surrounded himself in denial. It built a wall around him and protected him with his own sense of security.

"The only idiot here is you." The exaggeration on the words was almost as poisonous as the man they were aimed at. Looking into the mirror that hung on the far wall, Zhao glared at the reflection. Now seeing the source of the voice, Zhao whirled around to find Teniran, his Lieutenant Commander, standing right behind him.

The man stood proudly, though Zhao took immediate note of his stature.

He held one hand behind his back while the other clutched what seemed like a simple looking piece of jewelry. It was held aloft by its chain. Its swaying rhythm was bizarre; Teniran's hand remained unnaturally still.

At first the younger man's eyes were glued to this basic pendant, watching every motion as it danced to its eternal rhythm. He was transfixed, as if he alone understood what made the object alluring. To the naked eye, there seemed to be nothing special about it whatsoever. In spite of that, Teniran wasn't what you could call "normal". His honey-golden eyes attracted the light of a single candle, its flame dancing to its own unspoken tune. The light soon became trapped within those irises, reflecting the splendour of Teniran's attractive gaze.

His stature held tall and lean, and although he was younger than his superior, he somehow matched the man in skill. It all seemed rather... unbelievable.

Teniran alone could be recognized by those under him from his "unofficial" undercut that crowned his scalp, though everything came down to the tense golden eyes that could glare into any man's soul. Matched with his charismatic tongue, he could tear any man's hopes apart in seconds.

The unremarkable object still held relevance in the dead air. It gleamed as its reflective shell shimmered passed that of a flickering light, born from the same candle that had revealed the true magnificence of Teniran's eyes, making something so warm and welcoming cause dread to trickle down one's spine.

Zhao watched him cautiously, his lips tightening as a hard stress line appeared on his tense brow. He needed proof to satisfy his suspicions. Something reliable, something that would make even his skin crawl.

Teniran's eyes came to darken as they made contact with Zhao's, and yet his lips bore a smirk, highlighting the small scar that ran through them. The smirk creeped wider with every second that passed in the encroaching silence, as if it would envelope them at any moment. There was no explanation needed - there was nothing ordinary about this man, but this here, was not proof.

"You wanted to see me?" The sudden realization that the question was normal caught Zhao off guard, but he held his composure. As he always did. Huffing, he begrudgingly admitted that he wanted the man in his presence. That very man raised a curious brow - it wasn't as if Teniran wanted to be here either. "I don't suppose it's about a certain plan of yours going awry? I told you not to hire those pirates." Zhao somehow held his cool, only sending Teniran a crude glimpse of what it could have been like if he lied again.

"You lair!" Zhao barked, and Teniran's features turned dark. Despite the lump forming in Zhao's throat, he somehow was determined to defend himself and his brilliance. "You told me that they wanted revenge."

"And I was, of course, right. But hiring them was the bold move of a short-sighted and impatient man, or a man who's as cheap as he is ruthless." Teniran expected the reaction he got from that observation.

"How was I supposed to know they'd fail?" Teniran could not believe what he was hearing.

"Well according to all reports, Zhao, you're apparently a shrewd and clever man. It's a shame to see that they were all just rumours after all." Teniran didn't even flinch as the Commander slammed his own knife into the wooden desk. The candle upon it was the only thing that seemed to react; its flame flickered with an alarming amount of ferocity. Teniran simply felt pity for the desk.

"Angry, are we?" Maybe the question was rhetorical, for it was evident to anyone with the ability to see that Zhao had, once again, become irate. Teniran shook his head in disappointment, not even trying to be careful with what he said, for the truth had always been a bitter pill for Zhao to swallow. "Don't all people born with the gift of fire have to learn how to control the flame that burns within them?" Zhao's grip on the knife worsened as his Lieutenant Commander dared to continue, "it is evident to me that you skipped that very important lesson - so here's a bit of advice: don't let it consume you, sir, for it is a shameful way for any Firebender to die."

The smirk realigned itself just in time for Zhao to take notice, and as Teniran walked ever closer, the room almost seemed to become deprived of air. In response, Zhao tried to move himself, to square up to the lesser man, but no sooner had he let go of the knife's handle, his whole upper body flung itself back down hard onto his desk, the side of his face hitting it with a significant amount of force - his stomach and hips pressed firmly against the wooden frame. An unforgettable pain surged through Zhao's body, and he, being only human after all, yelled out in surprise. Almost simultaneously to this the light source of the candle simply ceased to be. This startled Zhao, and he tried to hide his uncertainty, though his crude and somewhat erratic breathing betrayed him.

Without a word or an action of warning, Teniran was beside him, and he leaned down to his level, making sure Zhao was paying attention. "Listen to me very carefully for I will only say this once more. The very thing you fear the most will be your undoing if you don't control that ambitious temper of yours, and believe me Zhao, your downfall is something this world has been waiting a very long time for-so if I were you, I wouldn't do anything rash." The delight never left Teniran's voice, and Zhao could feel the bastard's tenacious ego rip right through him. "You do well to listen to your second-in-command, Zhao, in doing so you might actually live long enough to tell your children about your...own self-importance." The tension finally released and Zhao fell to the floor.

It was a shame really - Teniran had actually been looking forward to his lunch before this meeting - however, simply talking to this pig had taken his appetite from him.

"Am I dismissed, sir?" It took more than a few moments for Zhao to compose himself enough to stand.

"Get out of my sight!" Teniran did exactly that, not caring to even check if the commander was alright, and left without another word. Zhao was more than slightly peeved at what had just transpired. How that low-life expected to get away with such volatility was inconceivable.

"I'll deal with it later," Zhao muttered, casually holding his injured head - and then it suddenly dawned on him - that meeting was supposed to be his way out of the mess that now smothered his mind. In true Zhao fashion, he would never admit, even for one moment, that it was entirely his fault - yet, as a consequence, all he'd been left with was a throbbing headache and a rather pissed off temper.

Life certainly did not envy the next man who would walk into that tent with anything but good news.

火-水-土-空-闪


End file.
